Wide open
by LazerTH
Summary: Look to that hill, and the harlequin will be there. A tribute to Wingless Rain, and his story to come.
1. Fake

Wide open

A tribute to Vince/Wingless Rain

The fat man had not run a mile in his life, but now he was running. Inside every man there is the running boy, and his running boy was cursing and panting with every laboured stride through the garbage strewn alleys.

"_Now come on, I know you're faster than this,"_ the mask giggled, always on the verge of earshot, dancing from alley to alley.

"Wait! You must… tell me! Who will… kill m… me!" the fat man shouted between great refreshing gulps of sickening city air, his stubby skinny legs burning furiously beneath his weight..

"_My champion,"_ replied the faraway voice, and the fat man ran faster, _"He'll be born the usual way, and everyone will want…"_

The voice had faded. The fat man panicked, knocking over trash cans and cutting his knees in his haste, "Want what!" he screamed, almost tearing a vocal chord.

"…_him."_

888

The fat man had sacrificed half his army to get this far. The Emerald Sanctuary had been partially destroyed, robots and cyborg Mobians marching into the area around the Master Chamber where Angel Island's army engaged them. But the fat man had blasted open the door, and was now inside.

"Get out of my way, rodent!"

"Why are you here?" the echidna demanded, holding an old shock staff that was utterly ineffectual at this range.

"I must know! I can't sleep at night! I can't think during the day! It is within my grasp, and now I have it!"

"What?" the Guardian shouted above the gunfire and mortar blasts outside, "What's so important you had to destroy the Sanctuary?"

"MY LIFE!" the fat man screamed, and shot the echidna with his galvanic rifle. The bolt smashed the Guardian against the Master Emerald, which was neither moved nor shaken. The fat man kicked the roasted body out of the way and laid shaking hands upon the prize.

"My wish!" he demanded, "I want to know! I want to _know!"_

The fat stone told him.

888

The city can be full of charms. Ms. Prower's apartment complex was not. It was one of those places that hobos avoided for fear of being mugged. She lived in a ten by twenty foot apartment that had once been a storage room. Somehow a futon, TV set, kitchen and bathroom had been fitted into a space too small for cockroaches to nest. Although half the rent of other apartments, half the money she made as a cashier at Moburger went into rent. Moburger: Mobian burgers double the size for half the price. "Would you like fries with that?" was the longest utterance she had made to another sentient being for half her adult life.

The other half of her rent went into the Resistance. They met at random places at random times and the only communication was done by word of mouth. Mr. Job came for her when word of a meeting spread. Since she had moved here, he had helped her with groceries and getting pregnant. You had to have money to be married, so they did not.

"Luttrel's calling," was all he said. She sat up from the warm spot on the futon next to the pipes, turned off the TV and followed him outside. She never locked the door. Nobody was desperate enough to steal from her. The foxes walked down the street, never holding hands. Public signs of affection meant you had enough money to support each other, and the predators here spoke less than their guns. Everything was gray concrete, black asphalt, white traffic lines… the only colour was green moss lining the drains. You couldn't see the sky anymore, not since the high rises encroached on the slums like giants among ants.

Ah, Mobotropolis, how we love thee.

Luttrel looked at the nine other members of the Resistance seated around him at Juniper's Bar and Breakfast. Juniper was one of them, and had closed for the day, shutters blocking all sight of outside. Pale yellow fluorescent light fended off the chill.

"The fat man attacked the Emerald Sanctuary yesterday," Luttrel began, "Nobody knows why. The Guardian was killed but not one emerald was missing. He took out half their army and they took out half of his."

"You got this information from the Freedom Fighters?" Mr. Job ventured, and Luttrel nodded.

"They're moving out of the city, going back to the forest of our ancestors. They say it's getting too dangerous to have a base on the inside. Maybe we should join them, get out of here."

His smile was weakened by their collective sadness.

"Most of us can barely make rent, except Ms. Prower here who got half the size for half the price."

Nobody laughed.

"Until I can contact the Freedom Fighters again, we should try…"

Luttrel's suggestion was cut short by his death. A wall of bullets shredded glass and metal, merging their leader with the far wall. Through the hole stepped a cat in army fatigues, who kept his still-smoking rifle trained on the nine while beckoning to whoever was outside. A dog and raccoon joined him, equally armed.

"Take the pregnant fox, kill the rest."

Mr. Job turned to her. His relief forced the corners of his mouth to curl upward in relief while his own imminent demise tried pushing them down.

"You will live."

She watched them kill the rest before taking her.

888

"I have you now."

Restrained on the floor of her apartment, Ms. Prower had bits of Luttrel, Job and the others staining her maternal dress. The fat man was walking around her, waving a handgun. She trembled, not from the cold.

"It told me you were the one, or to be more specific…"

He cocked the handgun and pointed it at the hill under her breasts. She was too shocked to react. Automatic gunfire still rang in her ears. She kept hearing the wet thud of hot lead burrowing into flesh.

"That _thing _will not kill me."

He lifted the handgun to her forehead.

"I will enjoy this."

He placed enough pressure on the eight-pound trigger. The hammer released, striking the primer of the round of ammunition meant to end Ms. Prower's life and, by extension, that of her unborn cub. The bullet flew through the air…

And…

Slowed…

Down.

Time can never be stopped. There is no force in the universe capable of stopping the eternal flow and ebb of energy, and if there were, the laws would contradict each other. No, time did not stop. It just slowed down so much that the bullet could be seen pushing aside the dust specks floating in the air.

The harlequin walked into the building. His white polished shoes sported black lacing. One leg of his pressed pants brooded black while the other shone white. His double-breasted suit continued the divide, so it seemed half a man was walking down the dimly lit corridors, a white mask bobbing where the head should be. His graceful black gloves had just finished tracing an X whose glowing blue lines hung in the air; altering the time and fate of the one he sought after.

"Fake," he spoke, and went up the stairs. The rune worked, but to keep things interesting, only _that _place had been affected.

The rest of them needed to learn a lesson. The first mercenary he came across, a Mobian rabbit, jumped with surprise at the elegant man walking into this nest of guns as though he were attending a dinner party.

"Hey you! No visitors allowed! If you live here it would be advised…"

His prerecorded message was cut short by the alarming absence of his throat, which lay at his feet as the harlequin continued walking, shaking red drops from one glove.

"One is fun."

The rabbit's brothers, hiding in apartments along the corridor, had heard the sudden collapse and the continued footsteps that sounded nothing like the heavy steel tips they all wore. As planned, the first two jumped out, laying down fire that tore through wallpaper and carpet. They did not know what they were shooting at until the white mask was suddenly between them. Gloves reached out and plucked the hearts from between their ribs. The harlequin dropped the organs at their feet so their owners could watch them stop beating.

"Three is free."

The next two brothers jumped out. Twin streams of tracer bullets lit up the corridor. The harlequin disappeared and reappeared between the streams, continuing to vanish and reappear between the bullets without ever missing a step until he was in front of them. Four eyes were skewered on four fingers. Those fingers dug into the grey matter and pulled most of it through the sockets.

"Five's a family."

He had not broken his pace yet, but one smart lad had hidden until the harlequin walked past. He jumped out, firing a handgun since he was the newbie. While the bullet was in flight, the harlequin reached into his suit to procure a playing card, which he flung behind him in the bullet's path. The bullet was cleaved in half, each fragment burying itself in the wall on either side of the harlequin's head. The playing card continued its path uninterrupted until it stuck to the wall, leaving the lad in two halves.

"Six of hearts."

Another stairwell. A big black human stood at the top with a minigun. It was total overkill, but the bullets flew in a nice orderly line, so the harlequin jumped onto them, his shoes pushing off the projectiles in motion, running up the line of fire until one gloved palm impacted with the black forehead and kept going until pink chunks decorated the wall behind.

"Seven's heaven."

A door beside him splintered open as another human, white female, leapt at him, gun butt raised and ready to crack down on his head. The harlequin reached out and snatched the right arm from its socket, then drove the pointed end of the fractured bone through the woman's stomach. Her lesbian partner tossed a grenade down the corridor from the safety of another apartment. The harlequin yanked out the first woman's other arm to bat the silly explosive device back where it came from.

"Nine's fine."

The raccoon threw a teargas canister from around the corner and rounded it guns-a-blazing. Loitering against the wall, the harlequin ripped off the gas mask as the raccoon charged blindly past, watching as the mercenary choked, coughed and died as the harlequin stuffed the canister down his throat.

"Ten again."

He walked past a ventilation grille on the ceiling. Moments later the dog punched out that grille, leaned out of the duct hanging only by his legs, and fired, but the barrel exploded in his face. The harlequin had one slender finger inserted in the bore.

"Jack."

The cat had an RPG-7 waiting for him at the end of the line, kneeling in front the door leading to the fat man. The rocket propelled grenade soared screaming down the corridor, trailing bluish gray smoke. The harlequin spun, caught the rocket lightly in one hand, and continued spinning until he had spun around, and let it go so that it return to its launcher, blowing the cat and the door to smithereens that slowed down the moment they blew apart. The harlequin walked through the blood and wood that hung static in the air. The fat man's bullet was just about to touch Ms. Prower's forehead.

"King. You can't take this life."

The fat man's head was allowed to turn to him and speak.

"Why not? I have a gun, and the bullet's already in flight."

"Because I just said so, and, just to spite you further, I'm going to let you keep yours."

"And you call that spite?"

"We will. For defying my wishes, I'll visit you whenever you want to sleep. We'll spend some real quality time on my hill. See you tonight."

The harlequin scooped Ms. Prower out of the way just as the bullet was parting the fur on her head.

"You will live," the mask whispered into her ears, cradling her like her child as he carried them away. Time resumed. The bullet thudded into the floor. Bits of the door and the cat resumed their flight to stain the fat man, who dropped the handgun and retched.


	2. Hill

Everyone wanted him. Daily, nightly, and ever so rightly, one of them sang as he had his way with the little fox. Everyone laughed at him, the freak with two tails. His goal in life was hiding: hiding his twin tails, hiding himself. Why was he the only one with two? He tried cutting off one but they found and stopped him before he got to the bone. Then they had him brutally, savagely, and he bled even more.

Stupid orphanage.

The best times were his dreams. He dreamed of using the big meat knife from the kitchen to cut them up, cut up their stupid grinning faces that twisted and grimaced as he lay there, hurting, helpless, and sore in the morning when it resumed.

"This is all you'll be good for," one of them stated matter-of-factly while pulling up his pants, "Spreading your legs for some sixty year old man so you can make rent."

"But I never asked for it. I want to go home," he replied very quietly. Any louder and he'd get beaten.

"Who told you that you have a home?" he laughed, and went away.

He had a good dream that night. A man in a white mask picked him up from bed, not grabbing him by the arm like everyone else who wanted him, but cradling him, holding him as only his mother had. He heard a voice from behind the mask speak the first promise that was not a threat to him.

"_I'll show you everything."_

He cried when he woke up, because he didn't want the dream to stop.

888

He was good at hiding, now. He could scrunch himself between the washing machine and the dryer and feel their cold and hot vibrations lull him to sleep. He'd get it when he returned to his room and they were waiting, but he didn't care. They couldn't find him… the oil drum overturned by the garage, under the stairs of the warden's building, the top shelf of the broom closet… all places too small for anyone else to fit. Then one day a stupid badger sold him out for a cookie. They grabbed him from out of the plumbing behind the toilets, beat him in the yard in front of everyone else and threw him in detention: a rusting fridge behind the schoolhouse. Those old fridges couldn't be opened from the inside; they had a groove that only unlocked if you held down the handle on the outside and then pulled.

"And after you get out," one of them promised as he dragged the little fox, "You'll get it three days straight."

_Slam._

The little fox pushed and pushed and pushed until he could push no more. He fell asleep with exhausted tears in his eyes.

The saddest creature was visited by the guiltiest one.

"_Wake up."_

This must have been the good dream again, because the man was there again, with his mask's fixed, idiotic grin that didn't seem stupid or fake to the little fox at all. The fridge door was open, and the masked man held out a black glove that his tiny paw grasped, lifting him out of detention.

"Let's go," said the masked man, and presented the meat knife with his other hand. The little fox smiled, because he knew exactly what was going to happen. The masked man, his handgrip gentle and sure, guided his small charge to the warden's building where all the big men, who hurt him, slept.

The masked man let go and the little fox climbed onto the first one, held up the knife, but stopped, unsure. The mask seemed to smile a bit more.

"You can take this life."

Reassured, the little fox stabbed. And stabbed, and stabbed some more, until delightful red gushed everywhere on the sheets. Not a sound had been made, because the masked man had held a finger to the big man's throat, crushing the windpipe as the big man, now the victim, watched the little fox take his life.

The masked man held a finger to the next one's chest, so the little fox could take his time slicing up that stupid grinning face that hovered over him whenever this one had his way. His heart was crushed all the while, but he was lucid until the little fox had finished.

He fumbled for the zipper on the next one who always boasted how big it was. He held it up, and the big man could only watch, because the masked man had a finger to his neck as the little fox reduced it.

The masked man pointed at the warden.

"Him, too?"

"No, he never knew. They said they would kill me if I told."

"Then let's go."

Smiling, the little fox left the bloody knife under the warden's hand and took the masked man's hand, allowing him to lead the way outside. With a touch the iron gates swung back without their usual creak. They stepped into the road, and the little fox realized this was the furthest he had ever gone out of the orphanage. Letting go of the gloved hand, he looked up in wonder at the tall buildings, the streetlights, the stars and the moon.

"Welcome to this place," the masked man said, his white mask beaming under the celestial spheres as he stretched his arms wide open, "I'll show you everything."

They explored the city. The little fox got to know all the public buildings and what they were for. They giggled at the sleeping security guard and ran when the security cameras weren't looking. The masked man showed him where all the homeless went when it was dark, showed him the nightclubs where the richer ones went and the private clubs where the truly elite spent their darkest hours. He showed the little fox where the trains went, how many boats were at the docks and all the different aircraft at the landing strip. Last of all he showed the little fox the roads, asphalt winding endlessly around buildings, and how they led beyond the city to the forest.

"This is my hill. This is my tree."

The little fox let go of his hand to touch the bark.

"It feels so old."

The mask gave a gentle chuckle directed in no way towards the little fox.

"I chained my mother to it."

"What happened to her?"

"That's not the question you want to ask."

The little fox's eyes, whose depths were glacial ice, stared at the dark eyeholes of the mask.

"What happened to my mother?"

"As soon as you were old enough she placed you in the orphanage."

"You didn't answer my question."

"So I didn't. She was killed."

"By who?"

"The one who fears you."

The mask turned away.

"If you want me, look to this hill," he said, and left the little fox all alone in the forest, but the child was smiling.

"That was the best night ever. I hope I dream of you again."

"You will, you will…"

888

The little fox woke up not in the claustrophobic darkness of detention, but the serene bliss of the forest. Rising from his seat against the old tree, he blinked, stared around him, pinched himself to make sure he was awake, and tears of joy streamed down his face.

Freedom.

He was happy to find food for himself. The most exciting thing on the menu back at the orphanage was French Toast once a month. Here there were berries, nuts and grasses good to eat. He was still young, so instinct took over. Days and weeks passed in the simple happiness of communing with nature. He kissed the dew from leaves, learning how to cup the larger ones so he could scoop water from rivers. He learned how to climb, scaling trees hundreds of times his height. His twin tails, cursed by society, were natural blessings. He could hang like a monkey from them, and when they were strong enough, he used them as extra hands to swing from branch to branch while his actual hands were free to pick up things.

Great happiness. But all good things come to an end. One day a patrol sighted him, captured him in a net and brought him before a girl groundhog barely four years older than him. Her wide open eyes inspected every inch of him, blinking at his twin tails. She patted him on his head.

"What's your name, little fox?"

"M… Miles."

"You come from the city?"

He nodded yes.

"My name's Sally, but since I found you, you can call me Aunt Sally."

"Auntie…"

Somewhere among the leaves and barks of ancient trees, a white mask glinted, its smile one of triumph.


End file.
